Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc — Volume 2 by Mark Twain (me reader TXT) 📖
- Author: Mark Twain
Book online «Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc — Volume 2 by Mark Twain (me reader TXT) 📖». Author Mark Twain
Then later, when she charged Cauchon with trying to kill her with a poisoned fish, her notion that she was to be “delivered” by death in the prison—if she had it, and I believe she had—would naturally be greatly strengthened, you see.
But I am wandering from the trial. Joan was asked to definitely name the time that she would be delivered from prison.
“I have always said that I was not permitted to tell you everything. I am to be set free, and I desire to ask leave of my Voices to tell you the day. That is why I wish for delay.”
“Do your Voices forbid you to tell the truth?”
“Is it that you wish to know matters concerning the King of France? I tell you again that he will regain his kingdom, and that I know it as well as I know that you sit here before me in this tribunal.” She sighed and, after a little pause, added: “I should be dead but for this revelation, which comforts me always.”
Some trivial questions were asked her about St. Michael’s dress and appearance. She answered them with dignity, but one saw that they gave her pain. After a little she said:
“I have great joy in seeing him, for when I see him I have the feeling that I am not in mortal sin.”
She added, “Sometimes St. Marguerite and St. Catherine have allowed me to confess myself to them.”
Here was a possible chance to set a successful snare for her innocence.
“When you confessed were you in mortal sin, do you think?”
But her reply did her no hurt. So the inquiry was shifted once more to the revelations made to the King—secrets which the court had tried again and again to force out of Joan, but without success.
“Now as to the sign given to the King—”
“I have already told you that I will tell you nothing about it.”
“Do you know what the sign was?”
“As to that, you will not find out from me.”
All this refers to Joan’s secret interview with the King—held apart, though two or three others were present. It was known—through Loyseleur, of course—that this sign was a crown and was a pledge of the verity of Joan’s mission. But that is all a mystery until this day—the nature of the crown, I mean—and will remain a mystery to the end of time. We can never know whether a real crown descended upon the King’s head, or only a symbol, the mystic fabric of a vision.
“Did you see a crown upon the King’s head when he received the revelation?”
“I cannot tell you as to that, without perjury.”
“Did the King have that crown at Rheims?”
“I think the King put upon his head a crown which he found there; but a much richer one was brought him afterward.”
“Have you seen that one?”
“I cannot tell you, without perjury. But whether I have seen it or not, I have heard say that it was rich and magnificent.”
They went on and pestered her to weariness about that mysterious crown, but they got nothing more out of her. The sitting closed. A long, hard day for all of us.
10 The Inquisitors at Their Wits’ End
THE COURT rested a day, then took up work again on Saturday, the third of March.
This was one of our stormiest sessions. The whole court was out of patience; and with good reason. These threescore distinguished churchmen, illustrious tacticians, veteran legal gladiators, had left important posts where their supervision was needed, to journey hither from various regions and accomplish a most simple and easy matter—condemn and send to death a country-lass of nineteen who could neither read nor write, knew nothing of the wiles and perplexities of legal procedure, could not call a single witness in her defense, was allowed no advocate or adviser, and must conduct her case by herself against a hostile judge and a packed jury. In two hours she would be hopelessly entangled, routed, defeated, convicted. Nothing could be more certain that this—so they thought. But it was a mistake. The two hours had strung out into days; what promised to be a skirmish had expanded into a siege; the thing which had looked so easy had proven to be surprisingly difficult; the light victim who was to have been puffed away like a feather remained planted like a rock; and on top of all this, if anybody had a right to laugh it was the country-lass and not the court.
She was not doing that, for that was not her spirit; but others were doing it. The whole town was laughing in its sleeve, and the court knew it, and its dignity was deeply hurt. The members could not hide their annoyance.
And so, as I have said, the session was stormy. It was easy to see that these men had made up their minds to force words from Joan to-day which should shorten up her case and bring it to a prompt conclusion. It shows that after all their experience with her they did not know her yet.
They went into the battle with energy. They did not leave the questioning to a particular member; no, everybody helped. They volleyed questions at Joan from all over the house, and sometimes so many were talking at once that she had to ask them to deliver their fire one at a time and not by platoons. The beginning was as usual:
“You are once more required to take the oath pure and simple.”
“I will answer to what is in the proces verbal. When I do more, I will choose the occasion for myself.”
That old ground was debated and fought over inch by inch with great bitterness and many threats. But Joan remained steadfast, and the questionings had to shift to other matters. Half an hour was spent over Joan’s apparitions—their dress, hair, general appearance, and so on—in the hope of fishing something of a damaging sort out of the replies; but with no result.
Next, the male attire was reverted to, of course. After many well-worn questions had been re-asked, one or two new ones were put forward.
“Did not the King or the Queen sometimes ask you to quit the male dress?”
“That is not in your proces.”
“Do you think you would have sinned if you had taken the dress of your sex?”
“I have done
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